David Lewis Paget

Charlie's Room - Poem by David Lewis Paget

It was just on the stroke of midnight, I was going to go to bed, But I had to pass by Charlie’s roomSo I hung back there, instead, I could hear the rattle of drums that cameFrom under his bedroom door, And then the sound of a French ‘Huzzah! ’From a Napoleonic war.

I thought, ‘He’s at it again, he’s gotThe Frenchies marching east, He’s going to Borodino, whereHe’s got a chance, at least, He’s leading the French Grand ArméeAs Napoleon did before, But I couldn’t get in to stop him, asHe’d locked his bedroom door.

I shook my head and I went to bed, There was no point hanging round, For Charlie, he’d be up all night‘Til the Armée went to ground, By dawn he’d have them dragging backFrom the Russian ice and snow, And wouldn’t be fit to go to school‘Til he’d had a sleep, you know.

He wasn’t a kid like other kidsHe wouldn’t play with a phone, He didn’t get into computer gamesBut he spent his time alone.He didn’t make friends so easilyFor he never went out to play, But stuck his head in a history bookAnd would read and read all day.

They said he must have been gifted inSome strange, abnormal way, He used his imagination forThe games he wanted to play, His mind reached back to another timeWhere the personae were dead, And brought them back for a second chanceOn the counterpane of his bed.

I caught a glimpse of the action onceIn a crack through his bedroom door, A galleon moored in a harbour byAn armed Conquistador, He saw me there and he slammed the doorAnd he said, ‘Don’t interfere! I’m trying to raise the English FleetAnd I can’t if you’re standing there! ’

His mother took him to town one dayTo see a psychologist, Who said, ‘He lives in a world of his own, I think he’s really blessed.We all grow out of our childish waysAnd I think he’ll be the same.’He thought it was all in Charlie’s head‘Til the day that ‘Little Boy’ came.

He’d read and read of the second warFor a month until that day, When I heard the aircraft engines IJust knew, the ‘Enola Gay’, I beat and beat upon Charlie’s door, Broke out in a cold, cold sweat, But the plane took off, and I grabbed the wifeAnd we’d still be running yet.

We were out in the road when the roof blew offWith a mighty blast and roar, And the mushroom cloud was curling upWhile we lay, flat out on the floor, Charlie had gone from our lives for goodWith his gift, and his bag of tricks, Hard to believe that he had the power, For Charlie was only six!